Surviving 40 Years’ of Kids Tantrums

Posted on August 7, 2012 by Jan Wilberg

The question is who survived 40 years of tantrums? Me or the kids? Both, but there were some close calls. I am not naturally endowed with patience. I also never studied the art and science of parenting although I should have. I plowed in, raised four kids, and am now spending a lot of time with one of my granddaughters. Of my four kids, three had very vocal tantrum phases – only one during the traditional terrible twos. One of my kids had tantrums but in a Gandhi-esque, Vietnam War protester way. He’d go limp, collapse on the floor and lay there, resisting the threat of tear gas and a ride in the paddy wagon. In some ways his passive resistance made me crazier than his siblings wailing.

Today’s tantrum from my six year-old granddaughter came after her grandfather and I declined to sit in our assigned seats at the breakfast table. Struck with the choice of obeying the six-year old or sitting where we ordinarily do, we foolishly opted for the latter. Then ensued a gradually escalating caterwaul. A relatively new phenomenon for this particular child, she’s caught on quick. The tantrum starts with a serious look, goes to a lip quiver, expands to crying, then sobbing, then full out super-crying – a class of distress that only a tantrumming child can achieve. It’s awful breakfast music, believe me. So first I ignored, then I tried to reason, and then I remembered what works.

Kids’ crying makes calm, reasonable people go off their rocker. If there was a single identifiable trigger for child abuse, it’s kids’ crying. Adults can’t handle the sound, emotion, and demand of a kids’ angry crying. Sad crying, hurt crying – they’re a lot easier to handle because the adult is not the target. But angry crying – tantrumming – is directed squarely at the adult in charge. It’s a frontal assault that creates an immediate, unavoidable visceral reaction and makes it mighty easy to react in a really bad way. With a swat, a yell, roughness. The adult becomes a kid on the playground, angry at the kid who took a swing at him. Really pissed off and out of control. And feeling justified. Presto. Child abuse.

So the trick to surviving tantrums without doing any damage? Impersonation. I impersonate a saintly being. When I’m around a tantrumming kid, like I was about 15 minutes ago, I pretend to be someone else, a calm, patient, loving, mature person capable of seeing beyond the screaming and crying that’s making me want to heave a certain someone into Lake Superior. I gather up my Mother Theresa robes and float into another room while I remind myself not to engage with the madness, to distance myself from the hysteria, and be available for the reconciliation and peace that will come a lot sooner if I resist the urge to reason, threat, cajole, or go apeshit.

So many years and such a hard lesson to learn. I send regrets and apologies to my first child in the batting order – the one with the 25-year old mom with everything to prove and the skills of a flea. And shrug my apologies to the other three kids who had to ride my rocky learning curve. Who knew? I wish I did. But I’m very glad that by the time I got to be a grandmother, I figured it out.

This is the lesson. The one that should be stitched on a pillow and put on bumper stickers. You are the person you pretend to be. Pretend to be Mother Theresa – other than the outfit, it’s not so tough.

Category: Marriage, Family, Dogs, and CatTags: child abuse prevention, children, Parenting, patience, tantrums

One Comment on “Surviving 40 Years’ of Kids Tantrums”

Teresa Cleveland Wendel
August 7, 2012

“So many years and such a hard lesson to learn. I send regrets and apologies to my first child in the batting order – the one with the 25-year old mom with everything to prove and the skills of a flea. And shrug my apologies to the other three kids who had to ride my rocky learning curve.”
Thank you for this wonderfully honest post. I’m glad to find that I’m not the only mom who’s had to make those apologies. With much gratitude–
Other Teresa (not Mother Teresa)

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